


Music Escapes All

by Birdle



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Music, Musicians, Piano, Reader-Insert, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdle/pseuds/Birdle
Summary: (a DDADDS Reader Insert)a young musician returns from her first year at music college to a place she knows, but not a place where she has previously met so much drama.enjoy this summer-long writing of her escapades.(reader is the daughter of Brian and only in her teens)





	Music Escapes All

**Author's Note:**

> heyy! this fic has been a long time coming, and i'm not proud of it (it's super bad) but it's the first fic i've actually kinda finished and not left hanging (*cough* my undertale fic still needs finishing *cough*). 
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoy!

It was good to be back. After finishing her first year in music college, the young woman could finally return to her hometown for the summer. It had been a challenging time: everyone was so talented and it was always a race to be the best. But somehow she got through near the top of her class.

Setting down her bags in front of a brightly coloured door at the end of a cul-de-sac, she rummaged in each coat pocket and pulled out a key with owl keychain attached. The door clicked open before she could put it in the slot, however, and a large figure appeared in the doorway, arms wide open. 

“Sweetie! You’re back!” She was enveloped in a bear hug and slightly lifted off her feet by the strength of the man. His ginger beard tickled her forehead and she laughed joyously.  
“Dad!” Now, an adorable corgi came bounding in from the living room and pawed at the shins of the embracing two, barking madly. This dog was obviously very excited at this display of affection and wished to join in. It took several minutes of hugging and a few tears escaping to get inside. They sat down on the same soft sofa, both clutching hot mugs of cocoa with a mountain of cream and sprinkles on each one. 

“Soo… how was college?” Brian took a sip of his hot beverage, the cream slightly sticking to the hairs on his upper lip. His daughter, with legs curled up to her chest, absentmindedly stroked the great lump of fur sitting beside her, then replied, 

“Good. Difficult. Looking forward to next year though!” She grinned widely at her father, who had no idea about the intricacies of music colleges but was always very receptive to his daughter’s travels. It was a good thing that was so because she immensely enjoyed bragging about the adventures she gets up to.  
“That’s my girl!” A comfortable silence settled between the two, and soon faint snores sent vibrations up the daughter’s arm: Maxwell had fallen asleep. She felt so comfortable that she could fall asleep too. It was nothing like the buzzing atmosphere in college; home was calm and soft and full of hugs and sweet treats. Her father looked very relaxed too and occasionally his eyes would close for longer than usual: finally he could rest, his family was complete again. He always missed his daughter when she was away (which was often) and although he was used to the feeling, he could never shake it. No matter what. 

A few other light topics passed the lips of the two. One of which was the plans for a celebration party: she was the most accomplished of her department and enjoyed great success in all written exams. Next year, she might have the chance to play a concerto with the school’s symphony orchestra; maybe Gershwin’s Piano Concerto if she was feeling modern, or perhaps Schumann’s if romance was what she was after. It was late afternoon when the two, drowsy from small talk and warm hydration, heard the school bus pass the house and awaited the auditory cues that the other daughter’ had returned from school. A loud gasp interrupted the conversation when Daisy saw the suitcase by the front door,

“Sister? You’re back!” Squeals of excitement neared the adults as a young girl pushed open the door to the living room. Disturbing a disgruntled Maxwell from his slumber, the older girl stood up to greet her sibling with an intense hug. 

“I missed you.” 

They stayed, hugging, for a long time, before Daisy finally pulled away. She had left a small wet patch on the other’s hoodie, but both elected to ignore it. The only other emotional sign from the child was a small, delicate sniff. 

“I’m so happy you’re back, and for the whole summer now!! We’re going to have so much fun, and I have so much to tell you about all that’s happened since you’ve left.”

The ‘welcome back!’ gathering was planned a day after her return. Everything was set; food and music and balloons decorated the immaculate lawn that Brian so carefully maintained.

Everyone from the cul-de-sac was there; the wide-smiling girl saw all the familiar faces that had been invited over, too, at christmas when she had last been back, and it seemed as if she had never left at all. Everything just clicked into place as it used too. There were also some new faces, and faces she had never thought to look for before: a father and daughter duo stood at the side of the lawn near the food table which was adorned with every type of grilled food you could think of (it was Brian’s specialty to barbecue everything and anything). They were obviously chatting up a storm with Craig and Co. On the other side of the garden, the two ‘bad kids’ of the neighbourhood had finally deigned to be seen at such a social standing as this and were nonchalantly attempting to teach a very, very large dog some scary looking tricks. She wondered why they had finally decided that these things were cool enough to attend without being dragged there. Probably the food, to be honest.

“So, who are they?” the young woman finally asked her sister, regarding the two new faces. Daisy stood viewing the scene with as much interest as her and responded with a small giggle before explaining. It turns out the teen was called Amanda, and her and her father had moved there just in the springtime. They sounded like nice people, from the intelligent musings of the girl. Apparently Amanda was also pretty clever and was going to a prestigious art school in the coming autumn. You’ve got to love someone who loves the arts as much as you do. 

The musician walked over to the two with interested fervour. Craig and his daughters had left and were now throwing a softball across the length of the garden in various ways, trying to make it harder for the other to catch it. Her own father had now joined the new faces and looked on jovially at the situation while grilling (yet more) corn and sausages (probably for that massive dog) on the barbecue.

“Hey there! Glad you could join us.” The good-natured girl said when she approached the group close enough. The new man turned to her, then to Brian, then back to her, and smiled cheekily for a second.

“Brian! I didn't know you had another kid.” Amanda’s dad then turned back and narrowed his eyes at the ginger-haired man before him, anticipating that he would now go on to boast about his other daughter as much as he did Daisy when they first met. It surprised the dad that he hadn't mentioned another daughter until she actually arrived back in Maple Bay too…. It was nothing but unusual, to say the least.

Nevertheless, Brian chuckled,  
“Yes, the topic never really came up, did it? She's a lot older than little Daisy; going into her second year in one of the best colleges for music in the world! Works very hard, that one. Very proud of her.”

Brian rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink with pride at his daughter’s achievements. It certainly was something to be going to one of the best music colleges in the country, let alone the world! Although he hadn’t mentioned her before to his new neighbour it didn’t mean that he was less proud of how far she had gone, just that that man hadn’t stuck around long enough to hear about her. They had only really hung out at social gatherings such as this one, and the other father seemed to have a competitive streak embedded in him way too far for Brian to speak even a sentence more about the accomplishments of little Daisy. 

“Wow! Well, Amanda here is off to an amazing art college herself, aren’t you sweetie?” 

The brown-haired girl laughed and replied with a humorous streak in her voice,

“Yes, dad!”

She evidently knew how competitive her father could be when it came to the success of his child. Nevertheless, a small, friendly conversation blossomed out of this with Amanda and the young woman swapping anecdotes, and their fathers occasionally adding something of interest. By the time the party was over she felt a lot closer to the new neighbours, and felt as if she had never left her old ones at all. 

Craig and Robert spoke briefly about the various activities they had been up to whilst she was gone. Craig admired her drive to succeed and to play; she reciprocated. Robert acted more awkward towards her. His daughter was as successful as she was and that was enough of a connection for his brain to shut off. There was no alcohol at this gathering, however.

Hugo, never her teacher, was as friendly as a father to her. She had never attended the local school as she joined boarding school at a young age; not many people knew why it was only her and not Daisy, but not many questioned it either. Nevertheless, the big dog was his son’s and his son was still as much of a troublemaker as he had been since he was three.

Mat and Joseph were equally as awkward, but for different reasons. Mat was just Mat. He loved the girl and how she was pursuing a career that he once had: he was going to support her til the very end. It was just a question of how to talk when he didn’t know what to say at the right time. Not that the girl minded; she loved just basking in the gentle aura of the man, especially in his coffee shop where the place just radiated good vibes. Joseph, on the other hand, never felt right with the girl. It’s not like he knew why, he just took one look at her when Brian and her moved here and felt uncomfortable. He could never shake the feeling but attempted with all his might to be kind and good, as a Christian man should...

Ephesians 4:32: “Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you.” 

...and all that.

And then Damien. He was deeply brought under the young woman’s spell in that afternoon. Never taking much notice of her musical skill before, never having the right mental state to stop and watch this talent blossom whilst he and his son endured a tough patch in their lives, the man was surprised to see this matured girl with a knack for music before him. But now was as good a time as ever to take notice; he talked a great deal with her about every single intricate detail of the art (and focused mainly on the pieces and style of nineteenth century composers, obviously hinting at his love for the romantic era, and within that, the dark gothic tones of opera such as Gounod’s Faust or Weber’s Der Freischütz). 

When the sun had nearly set and the lawn was almost vacated, the older Bloodmarch invited the musician to his home. He boasted of a beautifully restored grand piano that had resided in his home for years, that had been played so little it seemed a waste for it to just stay there. He wanted the instrument played; she could play it. 

The next day, her first full day back in Maple Bay, the young girl felt a nagging in the back of her mind: practise, it said. This voice in her mind usually said that; as someone who practised many hours of the day at college she felt weird NOT doing so!

And since Daisy was at school, Brian at work and Maxwell walked, she decided to pay the eccentric neighbour of hers a visit. He did say any time, after all.

She was met with the utmost delight by a (still fully, intricately clothed) Damien Bloodmarch. His work allowed him flexible hours, and writing off an entire day for the sake of art seemed perfectly reasonable to him. That is, if she thought the instrument fit to play on for hours on end.

It was up a flight of stairs and down a wood-panelled landing that the music room lay. It was beautifully decorated, and dampened with large mossy green velvet curtains draped over wide double doors. It led to a balcony that, no doubt, would be wonderful to stand and feel the sweet summer air on. How could this man’s house feel so different, so regal, compared to all the others’ on the street? A lot of dedication must have gone into this. 

Furthermore, the girl was surprised this was the first time she had been led into this part of the house; even as a child she had never ventured further than the parlor when her father was invited over.

The pianist gazed at the beauty in the middle of the room. Black body, ornate gold swirls up the sides and back. Even the music stand was created from patterns of flowers and leaves. This was the most beautiful piano she had seen in her life.

The woman ran her hands over the smooth body of it: it was truly very handsome. An elegant Steinway model D. That meant it was very expensive, too. The lid was propped open so as to widen the distance the beautiful sound travelled, and the pristine black and white keys looked seemingly unblemished, and the preserved strings and hammers were exposed and glowed in the soft light.

“Could I possibly… play it?”

“But of course. Ever since Lucien refused to take piano lessons, the house has been entirely without live music. Frankly, it would be a joy to hear you play one of Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words. Did you know he visited England over ten times in the early nineteenth century?”

She giggled at this newfound information and strove to remember it for when she next did a concert with more works by the man. She sat tentatively on the soft leather piano stool. Despite having played for countless audiences, somehow her dear, sweet neighbour gave her more nerves than when she had to play a concert in her colleges main hall where the entire first and second years, and her teachers, were watching. Maybe it was a sense that this was a chance to majorly impress him, he who had only known her beginner’s playing of when she was about twelve.

Damien’s son, Lucien, appeared at the doorway and was about to curse before seeing the visitor. Instead, he froze in the doorway and observed.

So. Hands on keys. Lightly grazing each silvery surface, she poised, ready to play. Back straight, fingers bent, mind projecting the music she was now going to play. She knew the first and most famous of Mendelssohn's set but could not recall committing any of the others to memory. After she had played the short piece, a heavy silence ensued. 

The young Bloodmarch had moved further in, sitting on a velveteen chaise longue. 

Before any words were exchanged, the piano called to her again. She began to play her favourite final recital piece: Debussy’s Reflets Dans L’eau. It started off slow and methodical, each chord thoughtfully placed and each bass note carrying the tune across it like ripples on disturbed planes of water. The two men watching her were brought to a complete and utter state of mind at the beautiful swooping scales and clashing chords. She placed the pedals perfectly, like an artist would separate the different colours on his palette. 

Damien had sat down at the beginning of her playing but now stood with hands clutching the back of the grand piano in awe. The look on his face was one of absolute incredulity: he had never heard anything like it in his life! Such skill, such an evocative song; how was it possible to move your hands with that much dexterity? It seemed he had forgotten all about Mendelssohn, however beautiful that was, and viewed on Debussy’s work as a masterpiece that required such advanced technicality from the pianist. 

He had even started leaning over the edge to peer at the girl’s face as she played. On the other hand, Lucien had kept his distance. He was admiring the woman’s talents from afar and was liking what he saw; naturally, in normal fashion, none of this translated to his face. It was as stony as ever. Only his closest confidants knew what he looked like when emotions crossed him. His father was too engrossed in the girl as well to notice that his son was, in every shape and form, infatuated. 

Classical music wasn’t a part of his outward persona, but sixteen years of it had made him disposed towards it. He had his favourites, of course, and it just so happened to be the seemingly cacophony of 20th century writing. Stravinsky and Schoenberg were his weapons of choice (much to the dismay of Damien, who much preferred the earlier stuff) although he was impartial to a bit of Debussy, Ravel and Satie now and then, with their mysterious melodies and sustained lines. And this was one of the most passionate renditions of any of those sappy soft songs; the last time something had touched him this much was when Rosa and Mat performed for one of the last times.

No, this was so much better. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Hours and hours later, sitting in a small nook in the library and watching the clouds cover and uncover the pale moon, he still hadn’t shaken the feeling. It made him uncomfortable, as if someone was squeezing his insides constantly, but not enough for him to feel pain. What was this?

The pianist became a regular visitor to the Bloodmarch’s grand piano. Being a better piano than the upright she had at home, with better acoustics in the beautiful, ornate room it was kept in, there was no question which instrument she felt better on.

Sometimes Damien would watch her, sometimes Lucien would sneak in, sometimes both would watch together. Lucien found himself staying in the adjacent room a lot because he could still hear her despite being hidden. There was a small serving hatch between the two rooms and sometimes he’d edge it open just a tad, just to glance at her. Although when he did that, he couldn’t get any work done at all: he just couldn’t stop watching the agility of her long slender fingers across the keys.

Soon enough, more neighbours would start coming to hear her. She’d put on informal concerts where she just played to her heart’s desire. The pianist would even take requests, and people would bring music for her to play. The most significant of these, though, was Mat’s proposal. 

He timidly approached her after a well-received ‘recital’ of a program of Beethoven, and handed her a suite of duets. He asked her if she could play it with him. Naturally, she agreed immediately.

“It’s been a long time so… don’t judge too hard? Well, I guess it’s in your nature to pick up on what I do but basically what I’m trying to say is that I’ll probably be terrible and I’m gearing you up to have no expectations before I start even though you’re probably like that anyway because from what I’ve seen of you, you’re really lovely but what am I saying, I’m just rambling now and I’ve made it beyond awkward, I apologise. I’ll just, yeah, sit..um...here and play...something?”

They sat down on the extended stool, connected at the hip, behind the face of the piano. Sharing a moment of acknowledgment the two musicians turned to each other and smiled faintly. 

“There’s no judgement here! It’s our first rehearsal, if you can even call it that, after all.” The young girl could see the muscles tensing in Mat’s shoulders; they were nearly to his ears, “Relax! Let’s just play.”

She was surprised when he had chosen Debussy’s Petite Suite as their first project. It certainly wasn’t beginner’s stuff but she was glad to play ‘ensemble’ again after weeks of solo repertoire; it created a more rounded musician to know how to play with others.

Okay. One, Two, Three, Four…

And they began with the first movement. En bateau, on a boat. He insisted on playing the secondo part; he said he didn’t have it in him to play the primo, the melody. 

She was sure he did. But he played the flowing arpeggiated sections so well that she felt transported to the sea: she was on the boat and floating into a tranquil state of mind.

Needless to say, they had both found an extremely capable duet partner in each other. And when Mat would finally find the courage, he would start to sing classically in front of her while she accompanied. He had a good voice.

Another advantage of playing Damien’s piano was that she gained pupils. The Christiansen children attended one evening when she was in a jovial mood and decided to nostalgically return to Kabalevsky’s 30 Pieces for Children. They were simple, obviously meant to be played by someone younger than her, but under a skilled hand, it became music.

The two older twins couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw this girl playing so well. They wanted in on the fun, too. Although usually quiet towards strangers, the two did not find it difficult to babble on and on to the older about how much they’d love to play and how they have a piano in their home that just sits there and collects dust. It was a while before the girl with the blonde hair like theirs could get a word in edgeways, and even then their father had finally come to see where they had disappeared to. 

The two kids must’ve gone on about her so much because the next time she saw them, it was in the comforts of their own home. 

“Could you show us how to play ‘Mary had a little lamb’?” 

A small voice piped up from her right side. She looked down, and there stood three pale, expectant faces. With the twins, their older brother, Chris, had come to see what the fuss was all about. He found himself interested in how he could play a recognisable melody on this instrument and it not sound bad (as it very much did on his school recorder). 

Their father, Joseph, wasn’t too keen on all the attention being directed to someone else; he was used to being the only ‘cool’ one in his house. He enjoyed the music they played, however, and only really cared if they were enjoying themselves. Mary couldn’t care less any other way. More noise was a nuisance but she wasn’t in enough to notice her children were actually improving in any way.

After a few weeks of lessons, the group of blondes had formed a strong bond to each other: as Daisy felt, too, the Christiansen’s admired and strove to be like the young woman. They felt a force pulling them to her and even started begging for her to stay and babysit so as for her to stay longer,

“Please, please, please can she?” 

Joseph looked at each of his children’s hopeful faces. He didn’t like this one bit. He didn’t like HER one bit. But he was a bigger man than this and, after a quick glance at Mary’s apathetic expression, he sighed and nodded,

“Oh, alright then! She’s old enough to look after you all and it’d give me and your mother more time together. As long as she agrees, of course.”

He had never seen such looks of glee on their faces in all their short lives.

She was practically part of the family to them at this point; she’d fit right in too with her light hair and eyes. 

There was only one time that the young woman had a proper chat with Mary. The mother usually kept out of the way, and more than once had she been seen with a glass of wine in hand on the front porch when the girl left.

That day, Mary was doing just that. The young girl opened the front door and saw, in a dusk dust-pink hue, the older woman’s figure leant over the porch. She was sipping at something in a tall thin glass and watched the cars trundle past as she did.

The pianist stopped and spoke,

“Mary, how’s it going?”

She wondered why Mary had no interest in her, and why she was always away for one reason or another but would never ask that directly.

“Whaddaya want, kid?” 

She didn’t want anything…. well, she wanted a conversation.

“Nothing, I was just genuinely wondering how you were doing.”

The woman gestured at the glass in her hand and raised it in a sarcastic toast,

“Positively perfect, as you can see.”

There was a measured pause wherein both women considered their options. The decision was made for them, however, when their neighbour Robert Small decided to stroll along the street with his little dog, Betsy, in tow and cast a wary glance in the Christiansen’s way. 

“Mary, fancy a walk to Jim & Kims?”

And that was the end of that.

…. it was evident that neither Mary nor Robert were keen on the girl, for reasons unexplained to anyone except themselves.

The third event to spring out of her enchantment of the local population with her music was the adoration of a certain young man bestowed upon her. The young man who was present almost every time she practised, in one way or another. He could pull that off because it was his own house. 

They talked quite a bit between sessions. He made it a habit to bring her snacks and drinks, and ask if she needed anything (even though it was his house she was constantly in, he still felt of her as a welcomed guest). In the end, they would consider each other a friend.

He had watched her long enough to decide that the awful sensation he got when thinking about her meant he liked her… a lot. Not just liking like a friend. He liked her like… like more than that. It didn’t bother him that he was only sixteen years of age. He could like someone enough at this age, he decided.

And if there’s one thing those cringey gothic novels his father made him read taught him, it was that age did not matter in terms of love. If, in Middlemarch, Dorothea Brooke falls for the older clergyman Casaubon, Lucien could court a young woman only a couple of years older than him.

He had asked in a quiet, skittish manner if she would mind going out with him to hang out. The excuse was that his great friend Ernest wasn’t around that day but he still wanted company. It seemed like a weak reason, but she bought it and met him that saturday afternoon outside the house.

He was sat in a beige hatchback, window rolled down and sunglasses on; he wanted to seem really trendy, of course. Oh, how modern day seduction differed from his father’s old-fashioned idea of courting. Today’s youth were far more interested in being with the ‘in’ crowd more than anything.

The young girl, interested in seeing why Lucien had now decided to become friendly with her, stepped into the passenger side of the car. There was still a faint scent of cigarette smoke despite the air freshener. Lucien had specifically cleaned the car out of old fast food wrappers and baggies and cigarettes to adhere to the illusion that he wasn't messy and never went out at midnight with Ernest just to get McDonalds and obviously didn’t do very illegal things for his age with said friend in the back of this car.

They sat silently in the car for a while, the young man driving with his arms tense at the wheel, seemingly since he hadn't had much experience driving before. However, the fact was that he was very nervous about impressing the beautiful woman beside him that he couldn't concentrate on the road in the first place. 

The sun had just begun to set as they pulled up to a spot on the mountain overlooking the whole town. It was only five in the afternoon but a cool breeze swept through the trees behind them. A very old pickup truck was the only other vehicle in the vicinity, the strung-up teen noted. 

As long as no one interrupted them it’d all be okay, Lucien thought. The moment to confess was approaching and he wondered if he should just back out now; he had never felt this strongly about anyone before and that thought was scary. He also wanted this day to be perfect for the pretty woman. He wanted everything to be perfect for this perfect girl. 

Without dawdling, the boy exhaled and opened the car door, motioning for her to do the same. The air was warm and humid. A layer of sunlight coated the two; they were both golden and optimistic in this light. 

“Okay, hear me out here. I’ve never known anyone like you and the first time I heard you play you stayed in my mind for hours on end afterwards, and to be honest you just never left my thoughts and I just…”

He took a deep breath in. This was it. 

“I can’t keep these feelings to myself anymore. I really like you. I like you more than anything else in this world. I like you more than life itself. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

He enclosed his hands around a thorny stem and pulled out a rose from his pocket. It was the colour of sweet lavender. He didn’t know if he wanted to explain that this colour meant that he had fallen irrevocably in love with her from the first time he had noticed her. He also didn’t know if he wanted to explain that it was only one rose because that meant he was devoted to her, inside and out. Maybe this was a stupid idea, he pondered panickingly. But before he could jerk his hand away, the woman, with cool eyes now lit up at the sincerity of the boy, clasped her fingers around his gripped hand. His knuckles were white with tension.

It was very cute, really. The young woman had never expected the rebel teen, who was two years younger than her, to develop a crush! His face was composed but red even in the growing limited light. It was so flattering for him to think of her in such a way; the rose must have been of the utmost importance to him too, she realised, as she knew Damien’s knowledge of the language of flowers, and how Lucien must have gone to his father for help in getting the message across. She would definitely ask the boy what it meant, it was obviously not ‘just a pretty rose’.

It wasn't as if Lucien was shorter or even less mature than the girl; in all other ways than age he was above what would be expected of him - a few inches taller than her and muscular, although lankily built. His face was pierced everywhere and piercing eyes added to this ‘bad boy’ image he felt the need to keep up. She couldn’t deny his pleasant features and she couldn’t deny that it felt exciting for such a rebellious young man to be at her feet (metaphorically of course). She didn’t know what to say; she needed to match his sincerity otherwise she’d come off as unsympathetic.

They both stood there for a few seconds, cold hand in warm hands and cold eyes on warm eyes.

“Oh, Lucien, you’re so sweet! I'm so flattered you think of me in that way.” She voiced her opinion in dulcet tones that enveloped Lucien in a comforting embrace. Even if she didn't like him like that, he realised, he would still value their friendship. He knew she was too kind and too pure for hoodlums by the likes of him, which made her all the more important to keep around.

“Hey, what does the rose mean, Lucien?”

Her palms left the outside of his hand and he instantly felt the cool breeze of the evening. She slid her fingertips past his knuckles and then onto the delicate petals of the rose, finally prising it from his calloused hands. He refused to let go of her hand though, and subconsciously wrapped his large one around hers. He had lost his breath in the girl’s soft gestures, but gathered enough courage to say, almost whisperingly quiet, exactly what thought went into this single flower. It was beautiful.

Another small silence.

“But… you are three years younger than me. You know that, right?” He knew this argument would emerge and he knew the exact words to combat them. Lucien had drawn up a list of possible defects with the match (as a guy almost madly obsessed with someone would) to emerge with plans of actions if any of them came up. He continued to explain how two years difference means nothing: in your twenties, then thirties, then forties, the age gap becomes smaller and smaller. It’s not unusual to see people with ten years difference between ages in this day. And the amount of literature even to this day written with crazy matches! He said it so seriously and with such fervour that the kind girl dropped the topic immediately; it’s not like she’d feel unhappy being with someone so young but… well, 16 seemed an awfully long time ago to her. It was when she had a tendency to overuse emojis and overshare feelings on social media. A bad time: she shivered at the thought of it, and of the cold.

He handed her his jacket. 

She decided she’d humour the boy a bit more. That sounded cruel to word it like that, but what else could you call it? In any case, he seemed old enough to understand what he was asking of her, and seemed to have a comeback for every fault she found. He had definitely thought through this a lot. With a defeated sigh she gave in to his incessant wishes,

“Fine. One date. If my answer is still no after that though, promise you won’t be too upset? I wouldn’t want to lose you as a friend too.” 

It was such a ‘her’ thing to do to think about his feelings instead of anything else. How selfless. His cheeks again splattered with crimson and he became increasingly aware of his right hand: his fingers were still pressed between the spaces of hers, palms still touching and thumbs still grasping the other’s. He wouldn’t waste this beautiful evening, whatever her answer was going to be. 

Smiling gently, Lucien further intertwined their fingers and proceeded to lead her further into the woods. It wasn’t as if he was scared of cryptids and the dark, quite unlike his father, but since he had a cute girl with him he felt compelled to bring up a barrier of toughness to assure her that he was in control. 

He felt the similarities of him and his father shine through as he suppressed emotion to keep calm and together in respected company. At news that she would take more than one day’s convincing, he was positively fuming at the unfairness of the world. He would never be angry at HER though, oh no.

The girl thought it was cute how hard he held her hand, like he never wanted to let go. It was indeed comforting for her to know that the teenager knew what he was doing, at least somewhat. At least, she was enamoured with the thought that she was safe in someone’s hands for the summer. If she thought that far ahead. If she wanted this to last a summer. He was so young! 

It was only a week later when Lucien proposed another date. He escorted her to his favourite vegetarian restaurant in clothing that was slightly less scuffy than she was used to seeing him, and then, when they had eaten, walked back to his house. The balmy summer air was pleasant to walk in, kissing the young woman’s skin in a soft warm glow.

He did not lead her inside, only around the corner to his father’s flower garden. They walked down the path of arches, surrounded by flowers of every colour. It really was beautiful; Damien had done a very good job of tending to the garden, and the girl was glad she had the chance to view the flowers in this light: everything felt comfortable and calm and great.

It was only when they stopped under the final arch of the walkway that she noticed Lucien was acting unusual. He usually tried to keep his emotions under wraps and had managed to do so for the whole date, but now he was about to do something ‘dangerous’, it was harder to stop nerves from surfacing.

“I really enjoyed today.” she said,

“Me too.” he said,

And that’s where he stepped closer.

The startled girl didn’t know how to feel. Was she really going to kiss Lucien? He had been nothing less than gentlemanly to her ever since she arrived back in Maple Bay, and could find no fault in him. Maybe…. Maybe it was doing the right thing, trying to reciprocate his feelings. She could find no fault in him but…. she felt for the boy like a sister would feel a brother.

The girl did not move as she felt him on her lips. Immediately her mind was intoxicated; it was much like the emotions she felt while pouring her soul into music, only this time it was into another human. In other words, she felt incredibly vulnerable. 

It’s not like she never felt this before but things were so much easier when it was a stupid college boy asking her out and her taking one look before saying “no”. This was a young man who was raised to honour etiquette and was so full of emotion it would hurt like hell if she did anything but say “yes”.

Before she knew it, the boy had moved away slightly to watch her expression. He wasn’t going to force anything, no matter how much he wanted it. The girl put her arms around his chest in an embrace and spoke into him,

“Lucien. Thank you so much for going to all this effort. I really appreciate it.”

“I-it’s nothing. Least I could do.” 

In fact, it wasn’t nothing. It took a whole seven days of sleepless nights to think of the best date possible for them. He even, again, confided in his father as to what a young lady of her stature would enjoy. He finally settled on something cliché and simple because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

He kissed her again before she left to her house. A short, sweet peck. He was going to insist on walking her home but thought that would be stupid since it was so close (and he also didn’t want Ernest seeing him out with her since he had lied to him about his plans for tonight). 

She reached home with mind still swimming with thoughts. She couldn’t turn back now but also didn’t quite just feel the same. At the very least, not yet.

An hour or so later, the patriarch of the Bloodmarch family was at the door. 

Brian had let him into the living room, where Damien sat, with dainty cup of tea in hand, patiently waiting for the woman. She wasn’t in trouble, nor was she to be celebrated at this moment. He just wanted to protect his son at all costs.

“Hello..?” a small voice emanated from the door,

“Hello, my dear. Please come, sit!”

The girl walked in, closed the door, and sat cross-legged on the sofa; an entirely antithetical image to the prim and proper gentleman.

“I’m sure you know that my Lucien is infatuated by you, but I’m not sure you know by how much.”

“He spent every day of this week planning every action and every outcome of your outing, and planned his actions based on your hypothetical actions.”

That was scary. She only thought it scary because it was so, so much work. That she didn’t know about.

“This is the first time he has behaved in this way, so it is new for me too. I just wanted to let you know the extent he would go for you. Now, I don’t expect you to have this intensity reciprocated, especially since he is just a young boy and you are a mature woman capable of your own decisions… but please, be kind to him and let him down slowly when the time comes.”

This long speech of his ended with a sip of his scalding tea.

She responded with promises and wishes and hoped inwardly that Lucien would become less enraptured with her by the minute: it was quite terrifying to have someone else’s love held squarely in your hands, forced there not by your own will. 

“I promise you, sweetheart, nothing big will come out of this. He is so young, and incapable of much! But it will be lovely to have you around more.” The young father ended the exchange with a kiss on her hand and before she knew it, he was out of the house.

Moreover, as Lucien felt more and more compelled to stay with the girl, more trouble ensued. Only a few weeks later did the girl land herself into more ‘trouble’:

“Hey, could you, uh, stop hanging with Lucien so much?”

This was weird. Why did Ernest feel so concerned that he would personally go up to her and ask of her this? He obviously cared a whole lot more than he looked, with his hands shoved in the pockets of his dirty orange hoodie. There wasn’t much the girl could think of to say except stutter a long explanation,

“S-sure. I mean, I’m not trying to hang out with him as much as I do to shut you out or anything and I know you two used to go around a lot and I’m kind of stopping that but it seems he really likes me and I’m not one to-”

The boy, only a few centimetres shorter than her when he actually stood up straight, slouched further and let out a shushing noise,

“I know why he hangs with you. He’s my best friend so of course he’d have told me before he told you what he felt. And, seeing as I can’t get through to him on how stupid feelings are, I thought I’d get through to you using any means possible.”

“...any means possible?” 

That phrase made her stomach drop. She did not want to get in a fight or drugged or worse, just because she talked to a boy who liked her maybe a bit too much. She started shivering slightly; even if this wasn’t a gang and it was someone years younger than her doing the threats, it was always safer to back away.

“Don’t give me that look. If Lucien heard I’d hurt you he’d KILL me! I just… have my ways. It’s better if you agree now than face the consequences though.”

Weakly, the young woman agreed to distance herself. They even made a plan so that she wouldn’t see him a certain number of days a week. Not that Lucien would know and stick to that plan.

“Thanks.” He slapped her lightly on the back before turning to leave. 

Ernest’s father, Hugo, had noticed that his son had looked more and more down during the summer. He wondered why; wasn’t it just a month or so ago that he was head over heels for his new pet? Maybe that was only a temporary measure for his happiness. Rather than avoid the situation at hand, Mr Vega thought he’d confront his son one night when he looked completely down in the dumps, hunched in a ball on the sofa with the Duchess at his feet in a similar position. They were watching some rerun of a bad horror movie while eating pizza,

“Ernest, you know I’m always here for you to talk to, right?”

He always tried the same line and rarely was it actually replied to, but he didn’t know what else to say. It was a standard teacher slash parent line. 

To his surprise, Ernest was in a talkative mood at that moment and turned his attention immediately to his father, 

“It’s Lucien. He’s gone and fallen in love with a girl. So now he’s stopped hanging out with me to hang out with her.”

That was a tricky situation. Hugo remembered his college days when the exact same situation happened; it hurt. But it was always temporary at that age: there was no way someone so young could stay obsessed for long.

He assured his son of this, and hoped for the best.

But since that ordeal with Ernest, the young girl found herself, instead, talking to Damien more. It was like the first day back when she returned to Maple Bay; he talked and talked and talked because she was interesting and clever and had something different to everyone else. The girl, eternally grateful to be loaned such an amazing instrument instrument to practise on, thought at the very least she could offer this man companionship. So when Lucien Bloodmarch wasn’t around, Damien Bloodmarch stepped in.

Lucien was out more and more with Ernest, she noted. That was good. Maybe it was because the excitement of a shiny new thing had dissipated from his mind, and all the girl really did with her day is practise anyway.

Nevertheless, at this point, it seemed the girl spent more time with the two Bloodmarch’s and the little Christiansen's than her own family. That is not to say that she still enjoyed what precious time she had with Daisy, Brian and, of course, her little corgi Maxwell. They were always there for her. They HAD always been there for her. 

Even when the girl was sent to boarding school and only returned infrequently to the house, she was always met with overwhelming love. Despite having spent the majority of Daisy’s life considerably far from her, it didn’t stop them from forming an unstoppable sisterly bond. They were both as intelligent as it got, but no rivalry sprung from this: they had entirely different skill sets and admired one another for what they had.

They were, essentially, the best sister companions the other could have.

It was a particularly drizzly morning. The young woman was invited over for brunch at the Bloodmarch residence; only Damien was present when she arrived, however. It seemed his son had not known she would be paying a visit and had already set off with Ernest to get up to mischief.

“I was tidying up and I found some items that may be of your interest. These… these were my old dresses. I was just a bit older than you when I wore them. I only kept them because they were beautiful, but they never felt right on me. I always felt more comfortable in male fashion.”

She understood what he was saying, and sympathised. The most difficult part in Damien’s life was when he felt no connection to his body at all, and the girl couldn't imagine how much pain that would induce.

“I was wondering if you would want to try them on, however. It’ll give you a taste of how a young Victorian woman would look and feel in such attire!” He sounded very excited for her; even if he hated the things, dresses could look beautiful and elegant on others.

There was no way she could dress herself, there were too many sections to it that she didn’t even know where to start! So the older man unabashedly aided her in wearing the layers required for the outfit. The dress itself fit like a glove: the top half was a sapphire satin with white lace. It exposed her collarbone in full, and hung off her shoulders slightly. The bottom half, also a shimmery blue, then clung to her waist and fluoresced in a great billow of layers upon layers of fabric. She then had her hair braided into a small bun at the base of her neck by the man, and something blue was nestled in her tresses. 

Blue was indeed her colour, however: it matched her eyes.

Damien admired his handiwork for a moment as she eyed herself in the long gold mirror. She really did look like a lady of the time, and she looked very fine as one too. He saw what his son saw in her now; it wasn’t something he was supposed to think but he couldn’t help it. He apologized in his mind for such rash thoughts, but couldn’t help but notice that it was as if she was his own victorian doll: he dressed her to his will and she stood there, aloof but pretty, in the middle of the dressing-room. 

All that aside, however,

She was in a different time now, though. 

And so was he.

“Shall we dance?” The young father walked over to an ornate looking stereo player and began playing some simple waltz music. He obviously needed those tracks on hand as it took next to no time to find what he wanted: it was Strauss.

He caressed her waist with care, feeling dip between chest and hip bones with interest. The corset suited her. He wondered it would feel like to… nevermind.

“Have you ever danced like this before?”

She shook her head, lost for words at this strange encounter.

“Well, my sweet, it goes like this…”

He began to walk her through each move until they were fluently moving with tight synchronicity. It seemed she was a natural.

There was a pause in the piece, and Damien dipped the girl slowly down to the floor. He sunk low into the suspension, showing off his strength as he held her mere inches off the ground. A consequence of this, however, is that he got dangerously close to her mouth.

She didn’t know why she felt a strange compulsion in her chest to do something she shouldn’t. 

If Lucien was the imitation of a sweet young romance, like Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley of Pride and Prejudice, Damien drew out the forbidden craze of Jane Eyre going mad for Edward Rochester.

Was she going mad?

Definitely, it must be the lack of air from the corset that’s making her feel this way, no doubt. It had to be.

Damien felt the falter in her step and pushed it aside as beginner’s nerves. He held her tighter so as to not trip her up. 

They spent over an hour in the embrace of the other and twirling around the open area with starstruck wonder. 

They stared at each other for so long that, if you were watching, you would think it was a lot longer than was comfortable. The emotions that had to be left unsaid were shared in the lock between unnatural red and natural blue, and the whites in their eyes shimmering with something that couldn't be conveyed in any other way. They only looked away when it was absolutely necessary; they only spoke when it was absolutely necessary.

“You know, I’ve never had a woman in my arms. It feels different than I thought.”

It was supposed to be an inner thought but his vocal chords projected the musing to her. He definitely felt the difference, however, and maybe it wasn’t just the fact it was a woman: it was her. It was a good difference, needless to say. 

She looked startled for a second, then responded,

“For all it counts, I’ve never danced like this before. I guess it’s new for both of us.”

She moved closer to him, if that was even possible.

Eventually, it was too dark to see their feet anymore. 

“I should get going.” She explained reluctantly.

That night, it was his eyes baring holes in her mind.

That night, it was her phantom physique in his embrace.

That night, it was Lucien wondering why she was so starry-eyed after she left the house, his father at the door waving her off. 

It occurred to the girl that she had never been alone in a room with Joseph Christiansen; there had always been the twins, Crish and Christian or at least even Mary or her dad. When the leaves were yellowing she finally had her taste of his personality in full. It was the run up to a bake sale; Mary and her children had already left with cakes and cookies packed in tupperware boxes (and an alarming amount already had disappeared). 

She was there because the children insisted. But when they left, it was uncomfortable. There was no barrier between her and this man who she KNEW was avoiding her, in one way or another.

The atmosphere in the kitchen had turned cold and uninviting; she felt the need to escape the suffocating atmosphere. The girl began shuffling towards the door. However, Joseph could sense her presence and called out to her: 

“Neighbour, could you give me a hand here?” 

He seemed perfectly capable of making cookies by himself but didn’t seem to want to leave the young woman alone. He had evidently swallowed the unpleasant feeling he always felt near her to make her feel more comfortable. Everyone liked cookies! The other blonde sidled slowly over to him. He didn’t have to keep up the ‘cool youth pastor’ charisma around her, even if she was still considered a ‘youth’. She knew the struggles he and his family endured over the years; despite his kind exterior, Brian knew all the latest gossip and had no one better to share it with than with his elder daughter, and Joseph knew that these teens always knew more than it seemed… 

“Could you possibly mix this stuff together while I get the chocolate chips?”

After a small pause, he finally racked his brains and found a good enough reason for her to stay. He wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted the girl to stay; he guessed it was a part of his pastoral instincts to include and love every one of his neighbours.

She complied; the two blondes began to work in clockwork synchronicity where, just when the man’s manicured hands was reaching up to grab the packet, the young woman’s tensed hand slowly turned the mixture at the same rate. 

“So… what’s it like at music college? I’m afraid you’ve put the idea of being a musician in Chris’ head and I was so hoping he’d become a lawyer, with those brains of his!”

Joseph knew it, she knew it: this was an awkward conversation starter. Why did this man want to keep this girl in the kitchen when he knew it’d be awkward? It didn’t make sense to the latter.

“It’s amazing. I wouldn’t give up being there for the world. And Chris has talent in his playing too, don’t forget that.”

“I guess you’re right.” He began pouring the perfect amount of chocolate into the batter. 

When the pianist wasn’t wrapped up in her musical mind, she found time to chat with Amanda. Being the only person on the cul-de-sac near to her age, she was the closest friend the girl would get here, besides Brian and Daisy. They felt confident in one another and talked about anything and everything. Their interest in the arts made it so they were never at a strain to find things in common.

Amanda’s dad, however, was determined to find at least one thing wrong with her. 

And what he decided to pick up on was the stark difference in her looks compared to the other Harding’s. Brian had ginger, Daisy had ginger, she had… blonde? Brian had brown, daisy had brown, she had… blue? It didn’t add up in his mind, and although he knew that genetics were a weird and wonderful thing, the fact of the matter was that they had no similarities whatsoever.

So.

He thought he’d ask one day.

“It’s true.” Brian hung his head while the other father looked shocked. He had never expected his suspicions to be correct. Now, his body was wracked with guilt that he had literally just stormed into their house and demanded answers.

There was a small gathering of the Harding family (minus Daisy), and Amanda’s father, all sat around the table in the kitchen with warm beverages in hand. By the looks of things, they were on for a long night.

“19 years ago, my cousin went travelling around the world. She was only 18 and had a bright future ahead of her. However, with one chance encounter and one mistake later, she fell pregnant. She couldn’t give up on her dreams, and actually planned to give the baby up for adoption before I stepped in: I had already graduated and had a steady job, I knew I wanted a child one day. So it seemed natural that I could raise my cousin’s child as my own.”

Daisy, quietly observing the situation from outside, peeked her head through the door at this revelation. Although she was almost silent, everyone turned to her; no one moved as she went over to her big sister and put her arms around her waist, burying her face in the older girl’s familiar musk. The familiar staining of her shirt commenced once more.

“You’re still my sister though, right?” Her voice cracked. She was scared of losing this sister she cared for so. She had been there all her life. She was all Daisy strived to be. There couldn’t be a world where this kind, clever, beautiful human was not. Hands reached up to embrace the silently crying girl,

“Of course I am! I’ll always be your sister no matter what. You mean so much to me, Daisy.” The younger sister now started trembling; it was surprising to see the intelligent girl so wracked up about something. She usually had the logic behind her actions but now all that had dissolved: all that was left was the instinct of a small 10 year old who was way out of her depth. 

The young girl’s entrance caused a pause in the serious, ‘adult’ conversation. The others in company sat contemplatively at the kitchen table whilst Daisy took her sister by her hand and finally left the room. She needed some alone time, and some time to think. Only one person returned to the room; the woman of the moment. She sat next to her father again.

Doors shut, the conversation continued:

“I don’t know who the man was; she never told me. It doesn’t matter: I’m her father and that’ll never change.” 

He ruffled her hair and she grinned melancholically. Amanda’s dad had his head in his hands, thinking. It occurred to him before, and again, that the woman looked almost uncannily similar to the Christiansen's (minus Mary. Mary was the outlier of that family). He didn’t voice any of those accusations, however. He felt that’d be a bit too… crazy? Of all the people in the world it would be mad if Joseph had actually done this, even if he did do some reckless stuff in his youth.

But he thought he’d ask the pastor, just in case.

And the pastor was not in the mood for this. 

Joseph bellowed with laughter; it was really quite terrifying. No one had ever seen him behave so erratically before. Wide eyed, wide mouthed.

“That can’t be true! After all, I vowed to only have intercourse after marriage!” 

His eyes were crazed. It didn’t feel like he was telling the truth. ‘Detective’ dad pressed on. It was his duty, naturally, to find out all possible information before giving up this lead.

“I don’t believe you. If you really think that you’re not related to her then you wouldn’t mind taking a DNA test, would you?”

That comment sent the blond reeling. He didn’t show it though. It felt as if the cheerful visage he put up to the world was melting away, bit by bit. 

There was no denying how similar he and that girl were, but anyone from Northern Europe would have the same features! The same eyes, fine. Hair, mouth, nose, ears, body type. Still okay, right?

Joseph didn’t like the girl one bit. And neither did the other father in front of him, right? Why was he so adamant to find this out then?

Amanda’s dad had thought long and deep about his argument, however. 

He noted similarities that others wouldn’t notice unless they looked really closely, such as how they both had the same eye crinkles and the same hair texture. Cheekbones, marked skin, muscular build. Even their formulated smiles mirrored the other. 

There was no other choice, in Joseph’s mind. If this man kept pestering him, there was no saying what he would do in retaliation (and he had built up his spotless reputation so far, it would be a shame to ruin it all again). He would have to take a test. To shut that damned dad up. 

He had a feeling he knew the answer already though.

It was only a few days later when Brian, Joseph, and their shared daughter sat around the Christiansen’s dining table. The results had been discarded and lay, folded, in the middle of the oak slab. Why was all the bad news always told at a kitchen table?

But not one of them wanted to read that paper again. 

“I… can’t believe it.” Joseph finally broke the silence, “I didn’t think my past behaviour would have such an impact as this. I’m… so sorry, Brian.” 

His voice was one of repentance. The usual sparkle had disappeared from his eyes. This was by far the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life, even surpassing staying in the toxic relationship he was in at that current moment. At least this wasn’t another declaration of him cheating on his wife; these events happened way before he exchanged vows with Mary. Although it’s not like Mary would care, either way.

Brian grunted in response and put his arm around the broken man. It was crazy how this news could completely deflate the pastor’s personality. 

“It’s quite alright, Joseph. It’s sometimes just nice to have clarity like this. But this news doesn’t change anything. She will always be my sweet little girl.”

Joseph’s head sunk lower and he mumbled “of course, of course,” before he started wondering why he felt so depressed about her. Perhaps it was that half of his genes are in this girl and he only just now could ‘celebrate’ that fact. 

He didn’t pay attention to her enough, he decided too. She was just a background character; a miniscule part of his life and now she was 19 years old. To be fair, her upbringing was much better than what he could’ve provided her at that age: in his twenties he was wild, free, and would no doubt neglect a child to party every night. That’s a horrible environment for a child to grow up in. He was glad that Brian was much more sensible than him at that age and cared for the girl when he could’ve been out there living life like Joseph was. In a way it was living life, just in an entirely different way to his recklessness. Brian always had and will have a beautiful house, lawn, job, and daughters. There was no corruption in the soft features of his face, or the curls of his ginger hair.

And that was a thing to envy in Joseph’s mind, with his fake smiles and sneaking out at three in the morning and his miscommunication with Mary and his children who couldn’t help but turn out weird. 

This child might turn out weird too, purely because this was HIS genes they were talking about.

The girl was fed up. There was too much EVERYTHING going on in this town, and although she had lived there her whole life, had managed to escape the drama and soul-crushing dread until now, owing to her constant deployment in faraway areas for the sake of education. So when it was time for the young aspiring pianist to return to school, it was no surprise she felt the mess of drama spiralling out of her control. 

She had to get away. 

Never in all the years she lived was a summer more full of love, loss and heartbreak. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to return at Christmas anymore, in any case.

She went back to college with sufficient practise but insufficient mental wellness.

Lucien felt as sick as if she had given him an illness; he guessed she had given him love-sickness, after all. There was no way he could live without her. No no no no no way.  
Maybe he would follow her. It’s not like he liked this stupid old place with this stupid school and house and people. 

Early the next morning, he stole his father's credit card and ran.

Damien, left with lingering memories and a lost child, could not bear to feel pain such as this. He only wished that they both would return soon, although that seemed very unlikely considering the summer’s events. He could only hope his son would give up soon on his adrenaline-filled, testosterone-filled grief and come home.

He couldn't sleep a wink until his family was complete again.

Joseph, Mary and their children were affected in different ways. 

Of course, Joseph was the worst-off: he could never forget that this girl existed because of him. It was yet another mistake he made in his youth that would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

He wondered if life was still worth living.

Mary, once again and despite everything, did not leave her husband. Though she knew they were hanging on by a thread and their kids were monsters and she was basically ruining her life, she couldn’t do it. And what’s more is that she didn’t even hate the girl anymore, Mary was beyond that already.

Robert would feel the same as whatever Mary would tell him to feel; he wasn’t highly empathetic but believed in Mary, and they had known each other for too long for him not to trust her wholeheartedly on what to think. 

The Christiansen children did not know the full story. They were too young to understand the drama and too young to retain anything they heard. All they knew is that they missed their piano teacher who would patiently and kindly instruct them time and time again on elementary things.

Hugo, Mat and Craig: the outliers of the situation. Although not directly affected, the fact that their friends and neighbours crumpled under the weight of this revelation and the entire summer which was full of twists and turns, they couldn’t ignore the depressive time that would not just disappear.

Amanda and her father, who were the catalysts of the secret, were apologetic but apart. Since Amanda had her struggles of her own there was no reason why they should delve even deeper than they were in more problems. The damage was already done.

Brian and Daisy saw that something had changed the girl in those post few months. And they came to realise that the first time she finally opened up to the community was the first time she became emotionally unstable; maybe her years at boarding school were for the best. Their most cherished family member just wasn't wired to live anything but a measured, calculated existence.

They traveled up to her college for the winter instead.

All could never be well again. 

But, perhaps, music escapes all.


End file.
